


Shit Never Goes The Way That You Planned

by piscineChampion



Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Magic is Awesome, Multi, No Swearing In Church, Original Character(s), So Are Baked Goods, Swearing, Tags Are Hard
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-13
Updated: 2018-05-13
Packaged: 2019-04-05 00:01:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 20,129
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14031732
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/piscineChampion/pseuds/piscineChampion
Summary: Life was on the upswing for Des. She did what she loved for a living in the town she loved on her own schedule. Brand spanking new condo, gallery showings ahead, even a couple new friends. Okay, the friends part was a work in progress. But this whole thing with fictional worlds being real? Gods? High magic?Dragons?Yeah, that's gonna throw aseriouscrimp in her plans. A civil war, no money or legitimate identification? Not helping. Internet and music? Well, that might help.





	1. "Did you hit your head? You on anything? Wave? Skooma?"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Real quick huge thanks to CodenameCarrot, La_Temperanza, and phantomdare1 (gadaursan) for their work on iOS messaging, twitter and instagram coding for AO3 work skins. absolute best and I think I'm vaguely starting to understand CSS now.

_This_ , I decided later, was why I didn't go to bars.

Actually, that's a lie. I didn't go to bars because I never really enjoyed it. Too many people. Too many drunk ones looking to make conversations that half the time I didn't even want to have sober. No, this just became a convenient excuse for why I didn't go to bars. 

Slammed so hard that the wind fled my lungs, I managed to roll out of the way as the fight continued. And for what? Probably something stupid, scuffing new toes, looking at someone's significant other, or insulting somebody's sports team. According to Bertie sports was usually the reason at Bob's. Damn these testosterone pumped idiots and their alcohol-encouraged alpha posturing. Damn Bertie's stupid job and convincing me out. Thank god for my thick hoodie to protect against broken glass and snow.

Wait.

Wait, _what._

I was just inside- It was only _September-_

A positively bestial snarl cut through the din, accompanied by a shout of, "I'm gonna rip those tusks from your face, pig!"

Hey, table! Shelter! Maybe. At least it served a place to duck and cover and see what the hell kind of trip was going on. Lord. Someone had roofied my drink. Or acid tripped it or something. This was what a trip was like, right? Totally unreal and everything? Granted I had no basis of comparison, but as I hugged the table leg and looked out I decided it was regardless.

Start with the surroundings. Broad pedestrian walk, a couple tables against the wall, a couple chairs. No sign of use due to weather. A liberal coating of snow coated most things, tables included, though not the road or sidewalk. The mounds of snow shoved to the side by plow were familiar in their disgustingly black and brown glory. Cars parked pointing the wrong way, like they drove the left side rather than the right. Not that I ever really recognized cars but these ranked less recognizable than usual.

Street lamps, old fashioned wrought iron look. Definitely none of those in my neighborhood. Hell, I wasn't sure they had them downtown anymore. Those banner hangers jutted out from the poles, a dark banner with some sort of stylistic X on them, and a white banner with what I thought were holly and bows. They looked to alternate down every lamppost. The sign over the bar door read ‘The Clam and Keg.’ A gaping hole above me explained the source of the glass; maybe one of them had thrown the other through the window. There had been far more glass after all than there should have been for just a couple glasses.

People, spectators, formed a wide, loose circle around the brawlers. Said human...oid... brawlers...

One, dirty white blonde hair cut short and built like a brick house - and about as big - charged his opponent, slinging a punch. The thing was... If I didn't know any better, I would have said that was an orc. Except it _was_ an orc. Green skin, tusks, unusually piggish features, and short pointed ears. See? Tripping.

The- shit, the _orc_ shook off another punch and lunged at the man, swinging like some MMA fighter. "You picked the wrong opponent, lake trash!" After that it all blurred. Onlookers shouting, insults and threats traded. Metal glinted. Blood…

From somewhere sirens got in my ears, attempting to pull me back to reality. Reality…

Someone grabbed my arm, yanked me out from under the table. I yelped in alarm, swung a flimsy punch of my own. The tall, curly blonde haired woman took it in the shoulder, making a face. Older, judging by the wrinkles. That or a life already well lived. "Kid, you don't wanna be around when the watch gets here."

Though I didn't try to hit her again, my instinct was to pull away. But something about her grim expression rang earnestly. The patch on her beanie persuaded me as well: I couldn't make out the lettering, but that looked like some sort of official insignia to me. Regardless, my indecision didn't sit well.

She groaned and tugged. "Come on or I'm leaving you, kid. You want some bullshit fines? Look, everyone else with sense is scrambling."

It was true. The onlookers were scattering, and blue lights bounced off the buildings down the street, getting ever closer. I gave the bar - where was Bob's? The fuck was the Clam and Keg? - one last look and followed the woman at a jog. She took me down a block and a side street. The whole time I stared in confusion at the brick and wooden row housing and first level storefronts we passed. It... wasn't right. The architectural cues were completely off. Where at most there should have been Federal, Greek Revival and even Victorian facades the only thing I could think was a Swedish Neo-Classical, and I wasn't even sure I had that right. It wasn’t like the Virginia tri-cities area offered a wealth of examples with which to familiarize myself.

Here a sign for Birger Mobile. There a sign for Honrich Bakery. That rang bells that didn't parse.

"Let me give you a lift. This neighborhood's rough at night."

The words brought my mind back to the moment. The woman waited patiently, keys in one hand on her hip, free hand on the hood of something vaguely resembling a World War II jeep. Some sort of insignia on the side. It looked like the one on her beanie. Hold Park Service. More bells.

After several heartbeats spent trying to figure out words, I asked plaintively, "Where the fuck am I and why in god's name is there _snow_?"

"Why is there- _what_?" Flabbergasted, my rescuer seemed to have the same problem: making sense of something crazy. After all, it probably came out of left field from where she was standing. "Did you hit your head? You on anything? Wave? Skooma?"

" _Skooma?_ " I repeated incredulously. "Did you just- _where am I?!"_

"This is Riften, kid-"

"What the fuck do you mean Riften?" I exploded. " _Riften doesn't exist-!"_ She put a hand up in a 'calm down' gesture, frowning. "Just ease up, I'm trying to help you out here. You are in Riften, southern Skyrim. Now I can take you to a hospital or to the Temple. Dinya's folk will ask you fewer questions if you're on any drugs, but they'll point you to some shelters and programs-"

Having covered my face with my hands halfway through that, I uttered a new mantra in increasingly panicked tones. "This isn't happenin’, this isn't happening, this _isn't happening-"_

"Alright, just relax, I'm going to take you to the Temple-"

"High magic doesn't exist!" I shrilled, lowering my hands. "The Elder Scrolls series is entertainment! Gods aren't real, magic is low key tomfoolery, and this isn't Riften!"

For a long minute we stared off, me in panicked denial and her in stumped annoyance. The sirens eventually turned off and quiet city sounds filled in the silence. I heard waves, a ship's horn. Gulls. A loon. That rang especially abnormal.

Then the woman stuck out her free hand. "Name's Malski Farstrider. I'm the head ranger at Shadow Stone Park."

Perhaps she had counted on the simple normalcy of the gesture. I automatically shook her hand - weakly. But then again perhaps she had been trying something else. The gesture puzzled her if the brow furrow directed at our hands was any indication. "Des. I'm an artist from Bon Air."

"Never heard of it, but well met anyway," she said. "You homicidal at all?"

"Only when I gotta work retail," I quipped, oddly relaxed by the question. Or perhaps just adjusted enough to circumstances that sarcasm had retaken its place as a stress response.

"Ha!" Her stance relaxed, tension slipping from her shoulders. "Tell you what. You promise not to burn the house down or smother me in my sleep, you can stay the night at my place. It's quiet, you can figure out what's going on in peace and we can talk about seeing someone tomorrow after you've got some sleep and food in you." Jerking her chin at me, she added, "Get you an extra coat. Sure aren't a Nord, aren't you freezing yet?"

Yes. Yes I was, thank you for drawing my attention to it, Malski. "Oh. Hey. I can't feel my nose," I said, voice faint. "Or hands.”

"C'mon, in the rover with you," she said, unlocking the door and standing back. "Scoot over and don't break anything. There's gloves in the box."

Somewhere warm to sleep and food to eat sounded worth it. So I climbed into the car of a [Nord] woman [who shouldn't exist] that I had known all of two minutes, and buckled my seatbelt.

* * *

Maybe ten minutes outside the city we pulled down a long gravel driveway off the highway. It was hard to shake the sign I’d seen coming out of Riften from my mind. Snow-Shod Estate - 5 km. Shadow Stone Park - 8 km. Goldenglow Estate - 9 km. Goldengrove - 88 km. Ivarstead - 156 km. Surreal still didn’t do any of this justice. 

What little I could see of the outright wilderness that swallowed up the rover as she drove made me think the area would be lush in the summer. Green as far as the eye could see, moss and ferns under the trunks and branches, scant rays of light coming through the canopy. "Trees’re green in the summer, here, right? Or's there always gold in the canopy?" I asked. I mean, really, just how much did fictional universes follow the laws of nature? Or what I’d thought the laws of nature were. 

It had been the first thing to pass my lips since getting into the car. Malski glanced at me in surprise. "Of course they're green in the summer. The Rift only turns gold in the fall." 

"’s always gold in game,” I murmured. 

"If you say so,” she returned with a shrug. 

A minute later we pulled into a clearing centered on a picturesque farmhouse. Two stories, front porch, roofed balcony above the front door. Behind it I could make out the dark bulk of the mountain. Malski parked at the edge of the stone paved walk. "Home sweet home. It's quiet out here, hope you don't mind silence at night." 

As we got out of the car, I looked around at the enormous trees, and - most important - the stars above. So many, even with the light bleed from the city. They were heartbreakingly beautiful, and painfully foreign. Secunda shone full, a tiny silver coin against the angry red crescent of Masser. "I really ain’t trippin', am I?" I asked quietly. 

"If you haven't had anything then you definitely aren't high," said Malski sympathetically. "Come on. You hungry? Make you a sandwich.” She didn’t wait for a response, crossing the porch to the door. Behind the screen her door was a bright green, with flowering vines around the tiny window in the middle. 

I slowly pulled myself along behind her, reaching the porch by the time she had long vanished inside the house. 

Her voice echoed out the open doorway. “Well come on, don’t let the cold in.” 

I opened the screen, stepped inside and closed the door behind me. Whitewashed wood paneling greeted me, a hall and sage-green painted steps ahead. To the right, a shallow sitting room that appeared to stretch to the rear of the house. It might even have been part of the porch once, judging by the threshold and what I had seen outside of the house’s silhouette. Directly to the left the living room, comfortable with an overstuffed armchair, a doubtless sprung couch loaded with quilts and pillows. Bookshelves stuffed with books and knickknacks lined the walls; a mostly miniature TV set with what might have been a stubby antenna - minus the decidedly unusual blue glow on it - sat on one of the shelves at seated eye level. A hatchet hung over the front window. Two crossed daggers over the side window. 

Curiosity took hold. Moving into the living room, I looked closer at some of the knickknacks. A palm-sized carved stone art piece, very fine, some sort of crystal. A drinking horn, extravagantly carved ivory and silver. A miniature painting, well done, of some lady dressed to the nines. Rich nines. Dice, nothing fancy by the look, but clearly cherished by their apparent place of honor clear of anything else. An arrow head, black as night and elegant in its form and ornamentation. It had been broken from the shaft, dark splinters emerging from the end. The wood appeared nearly mottled. 

“You can look at anything you want, but food’s in here.” 

Malski’s words pulled me from my observations and back to the hall. The room at the back of the house served kitchen and eating space. Oak counter and slate cabinets ran half the length, a huge window over the sink, and a minty green retro stove set up in an even older cooking hearth. Would have bet the fridge dated about the same as the oven. The far left corner under the windows housed a bench and table, a couple wooden armchairs with mismatched cushions extra inviting. All told it read vintage cute, easy. 

The ranger in question had just finished putting together a sandwich, setting the last slice on top. “Took you long enough,” she remarked as she scooped up the plate. “C’mon, take a seat, kiddo.” I walked over to the table, hesitated, then took a seat on the bench, dropping my bag by the table leg. She set the plate down in front of me before walking to the fridge. “Snowberry juice? Milk? Ale?” 

After a moment, I answered, “Water. Please.” As she did, I regarded the sandwich. It looked… normal… 

A glass of water set down beside the plate. “It’s just corned mutton, pickled frost cabbage, onions and tomato.” 

“That’s specifically a combo I didn’t expect to hear… ever.” I picked it up as I said that, however. 

“Heh, it’s good, though. So what part of Cyrodiil are you from?” she asked, sitting down in the next chair over. 

I finished chewing the bite I’d taken while she popped a bottle cap with the ring on her hand. And then I waited until she started drinking it. Couldn’t tell you what possessed me to, just did. “I’m not from Nirn.” 

Malski coughed and put down the bottle, hard. “Come again?” 

“I’m not from Nirn. Tamriel’s a grim fairy tale. I told you, gods and magic don’t exist and how the Sam hell y’all got cars and shit? Y’all was supposed to be dark and middle ages. Frickin’ late Roman Empire.” 

“Alright, let’s back up,” she groaned, rubbing the bridge of her nose. “Void, if you turn out to be a homicidal maniac…” 

“Not worth it.” 

“Sure, kid,” she scoffed. Malski sat back in her chair, gesturing with her ale. “So you’re from, what, Aetherius? Oblivion?” 

“Try outside the entire Aurbis. Different Wheel of existence completely. Emphasis on no gods or magic.” I took another bite of sandwhich and spoke around it. “This is really good.” 

The ranger grunted as she scratched her jaw. “Told you it was… Shit. But you know about Tamriel. How detailed can a fairy tale be?” 

“Y’all have video games? You know, play ‘em on the television with a controller?” I asked, mimicking one with my food. 

She nodded. “Arcade and the like?” 

Returning the gesture, I said, “Yeah, like that, more detailed most like. Elder Scrolls series. Loved ‘em. Sight less happy with 'em right now, mind you. But yeah, played most of them, read up the lore. What year is it?” 

“201, 4E,” she answered. A frown had taken up on her face and looked keen on staying there for the foreseeable future. “How does that even work?” 

After a second processing, the year and era sank in. Whining is unbecoming of anyone at the best of times. I still did it, sinking down in the chair. “I don’t wanna see dragons…” 

Malski snorted and swigged her ale. “Dragons been extinct for a couple thousand years at least, kid. I think you’ll be fine. Shame you missed New Life, though. Might’ve been a better time to come in. You know, food and tangle-foot and parties to take the sting out.” 

“Wh... what day is it? Wait, what's _tangle-foot_?” 

“Alcohol, of course," she answered with a salute of her ale. "And today's Four Morningstar. Just kicked off the new year. Everyone just about forgot we were at war for the day.” 

I groaned again. “Civil war, goddammit, Ulfric.” At least I didn’t have to deal with dragons after all. Well, if I could get home within the next seven months or so. 

Cocking her head to the side, she said, “You know what’s going on?” 

“Yeah, dubiously intentioned moron kills the king, throws the country into chaos, and meanwhile the Thalmor sit on the side makin’ snide comments and secretly gigglin’ over all the ruckus. I really don’t wanna be in Skyrim right now. Or… anywhere else here…” 

“You sure are a ball of sunshine,” she chuckled. “Alright. So let’s get this straight. You’re from gods know where, and all of this is a story to you, so what, you want to go back?” 

“Uh, wouldn’t you? I sure as sin ain’t made for a place like this. Monsters supposed to be truly awful people, not literal monsters. And gods?” Blowing a raspberry, I shook my head. “Nah. Not a good fit.” 

She tilted her head like ‘if you say so.’ “So what’s your plan?” 

I shrugged in response as though it were self-evident. “Find someone who can send me back. What else?” 

The arch of her brow suggested she thought otherwise. But instead of saying so, Malski asked, “Got any ideas where to start?” 

“College of Winterhold. Aren’s been around a long-ass while, Urag either by himself or in succession got a pretty good library going, Ervine probably knows her business, and Gestor can’t be a complete idiot if he’s the Master of Conjuration there. I guess if I get desperate I can reach out to the College of Whispers and the Synod. Almost rather go to Master Neloth on Solstheim, but he’d be as like to experiment on me as not.” Shuddering as I wondered what tentacles out of one’s eyes looked like, I added, “I _really_ don’t wanna help him research the eighth form of silence. Really, _really_ don’t.” 

Brows to her hairline, she said, “This Neloth must be a real charmer.” 

I snorted and nodded. “I’m guessin’ if you googled him, you’d get a few articles on what an ass the guy is.” 

“Googled?” 

“Ran a- nevermind.” 

Head down, I finished eating while Malski sat back with her ale, eyes out into space with her own thoughts. Afterwards I carried my plate to the sink, washed it and set it to dry on a folded towel on the counter. A sudden yawn nearly incapacitated me and I had to lean against the counter . The ranger finally sighed and got to her feet. “Best get you some sleep, kid. Come on.” 

My feet felt heavier by the minute as I followed the Nord to the stairwell and up. The ride to the house had calmed me, somewhat. It had allowed a certain numbness to sink in from the utter surreality of it all, conserving energy for processing as opposed to panicking. Panic hadn’t done me any good anyway. But now exhaustion called, my psyche pointedly throwing up its hands and saying ‘fuck it, we’re done for today.’ 

Malski pointed out the bathroom before opening a door and flicking a lights witch. “Sorry about the dust. Haven’t had guests in a while. There’s extra blankets in the chest if you need them.” She leaned against the door frame once I’d stepped inside. “I’ll drop a sweater and some socks in for you. I’m right across the hall, just don’t smother me in my sleep, alright?” 

I nodded, sat on the edge of the pseudo Scandinavian built-in bed against the wall. “Thanks.” 

Expression softening, she said, “Hey. You’re going to be okay, kid. Get some sleep.” 

As she closed the door behind her, I looked around in the flickering light. Old whitewashed furniture, unstained wood floor, dusty old Persians layered across the planks. But above, past the electric wall sconces, the ceiling had been painted between the rafters at some point. Real traditional, folk art look. Once vivid reds and greens and yellows and whites on a field of light blue. It was gorgeous, no matter how faded. The bed around me, a built in like I’d seen on Pinterest once, was at that moment the most welcoming thing ever to face me. A safe little cave complete with warm blankets. 

My eyes shuttered. Deep breath. Deal with the dust, then sleep. 

Forcing myself up, I carefully folded up the coverlet to minimize dust clouds and deposited it in an arm chair by the window. Next the pillows came off the bed. Inside the chest it smelled akin to cedar, but no dust at least. I pulled the top two blankets and a small pillow, putting them on the bed instead. Almost there. Stripping down to leggings and camisole, I slid under the weighty covers and let sleep have me with no small amount of relief. 

* * *

Des  
  
**Today** 4:15 PM  
Nine p sharp, B.  
Yep!  
See you there, cous!  
**Today** 9:17 PM  
Where the samhell are you?  
Bertie you know I hate bars. Come on.  
Sorry something came up with a client and I just got off work  
I'm on my way right now. Ten minutes.  
Sure, this wasn't some try to socialize me. I'm going home. Hi to Mags, kiss the kids.  
It's not like that  
C’mon Des  
Des?  


* * *

My alarm called me to rise and greet the- yeah, no, it told me to get my ass up and start waking up because I had two paintings in progress waiting for me. _Believer_ clapped its drums in my ears and I tapped 'dismiss' before rolling out of bed. Where the very air tried to freeze my darned toes off

"The hell- oh god-"

Definitely not my circus. Wish I could have also said not my monkeys. Alas, I had to claim the radioactive mutant monkeys. Figuratively speaking. I was beyond done if any actual nuclear powered sapiens showed up. 

I took a few moments to calm myself down with some four step breathing and a repeated 'you are in a safe place.' Whistling and pan sizzling carried up from downstairs. For one beautiful - but immediately painful - second I thought it was my mother. But no, that was the godforsaken tune to Ragnar the Red assaulting my ears. At least that singular fact dulled the ache somewhat. Course, just brought the insanity of my situation right back. I picked up my phone once more. Battery low from trying to get a signal. No surprise there. But I did see a new message notification. Bertie. Throat squeezing itself into a knot, I opened the text.

_It's not like that.  
Des c'mon._

The nightmare about the last things said to both my parents reared its head, tried to take hold. Jaw clenched, the new mantra became 'you're going back.' Once I got my pulse back to a respectable pace I threw on the pair of thick wool socks and fisherman's cable knit sweater that had been left on the chest. Food. The first order of business had to be food. Couldn't have grief or panic attacks without energy anyway. I turned off my phone and headed downstairs.

As I came into the kitchen, Malski grinned and waved a spatula at me. "Good morning! Got sausage and eggs coming up. You like venison?"

“Bambi’s good,” I confirmed, right before remembering Mal had no idea what I was talking about.

Unfamiliar references didn’t stop her. She quirked a brow but just pointed to a cabinet. "Get us some plates. Coffee's on the kettle." A couple minutes later we sat down to eat. Coffee, milk, venison sausage, eggs, rustic root hash and homemade bread with snowberry jam. Nothing fancy, just homey comfort food. Right good. Hadn’t realized how hard my stomach had been gnawing at itself until I tucked in, either.

"So I figure this is the plan," she said, setting down her mug halfway through. "Dansk is going to cover me today, so we’re going to take you back into the city see about getting some things done. First off I’m taking you to see Dinya-”

“Oh my god,” I exasperated, pushing my plate away. “I ain’t high, Malski-”

“I know you aren’t,” she replied evenly.

Flushing, I mumbled, “Sorry.”

The corner of her mouth ticked up. “Seems like you’re having more trouble believing this than I am.”

I rubbed my neck, meeting her gaze. “Well, y’all got a li’l more, uh, precedence for this kinda crazy shit than we did.” 

Malski chuckled and sipped her coffee. “If you say so. Anyway, she’s a friend, we go back. She’ll make sure you’re alright physically, no questions. Since I haven’t keeled over, you’re probably not carrying plague, but let’s make sure, alright? Then we’re going to find you some stuff to work with. We're talking some cold weather clothes-"

"But I don’t have any money-"

"I know you don’t. I'm going to give you some." Mal sat back and rolled her shoulders like it was no big deal; she certainly didn't pay any mind to the wide eyed surprise on my face. "If it makes you feel better, maybe find something to do for money to get you started. Dinya aught to be able to point you in a good direction on that. If you don't mind waitressing I know a guy who owes me a favor.”

"It's not that I ain’t grateful, I am." I gripped my fork. " _Why_ are you doin’ this? I thought this was _Riften_."

At that last emphatic remark, she smirked. "Don't I know it, kid. Look, Rifteners aren't always the nicest folk you're gonna meet. We're suspicious by nature and most of the time it serves us well. But sometimes you need a hand up to get your footing, and later down the road you’re a friend I can call on. Besides, you're begging to get in trouble the way you dress," she added. "All those symbols, amulets and crystals, you looked like a witch out for tea and spell swap."

I paused, looked myself over before replaying what she’d said. "Uh, I do consider myself a witch. Lazy as hell, but I’d be happy to do you some protection jars, bury 'em at your property corners. Show you how to keep ‘em up, too."

The ranger leaned forward on the table, brow furrowed. "Now I swore you said magic wasn't supposed to-"

" _High_ magic. Fireballs, summonin’ demons, knittin’ wounds closed with magic, that doesn't exist at home. Spell jars, knot magic, and enchanted bakin’ are my go-to when I bother, hands down. Rosemary and geraniums by your gate, penny in the shoe, salt at your doors and wheat wreaths over the hearth. That's what I do. Low grade shit."

"So you're a cunning woman," she said thoughtfully. "Any healing?"

"No,” I scoffed, “you should be seein' a damn doctor."

"Cursing?" Malski pressed.

Making a face, I replied, "Know how, but you really gotta piss me off."

Malski abruptly smiled and raised her mug to me. "Well, now I know a witch. Cheers!"

That let me relax. "...well, a’ight then.” But a second later, I asked, “That don’t bother you?”

She grinned. “Why would it? If you aren’t planning rites most foul, I think I’ll be fine. I’ve known far worse than you, kid. By the way, Mal’s fine.”

“A’ight, then. Mal.”

We finished breakfast with some small talk about the park before cleaning up the dishes. Upstairs I redressed and freshened up in the bathroom. Grabbing my bag I headed back down to the front hall. Butterflies - or just flies - clapped around in my stomach at the thought of going into town. What would it be like? Was it safe? A knot started to form in the back of my neck.

Mal met me a couple minutes later, shrugging on her Park Service jacket. She casually looped the heather grey scarf in her hand around my neck. “There you go, kiddo. Ready?”

“Reckon so.”

On the way out the door I saw the weapons pegged up under the coat rack. A machete, based off the shape, clean in execution but clearly Nordic. Well, she _was_ a ranger, I guess. Then the two hanging quivers, fletched with actual feathers but clearly professionally done. Last came the bow, a composite of some sort, the material almost glowing like-

I stopped, moved closer, took it off the pegs. It was a pale, creamy gold with layers of opalescent green- “Mal, is this glass?”

She continued to zip up her windbreaker and pulled out her keys. “Aye, elven forged moonstone with glass. Not the standard Aldmeri formula most run with. Western Dunmeri, Blacklight. Trip and a half getting it, but I haven’t got a single regret. That bow’s been my best friend for a few decades now.”

“Guess you’re a bow hunter, then,” I said, replacing it.

She grinned as she shooed me out to the porch. “What else would I be? No fun in crossbows.”

I frowned but let it go, headed for the jeep again. The snow outright glared under the sunlight. I fumbled in my bag for my shades as Mal pulled ultra-polarized shades of her own down onto her face. “How the hell y’all don’t go blind in winter?” I grumbled as we got in the rover.

With a laugh she tapped her shades. “How do you think? Buckle up. Let’s get going.”

As we made the outer limits a unique sort of bizarre caught my eye and I whipped my head around to look. "Hell in a hand basket," I swore, craning to see. "That was a Khajiit, wasn’t it? Actual fuckin' Khajiit-"

"You’re a muckspout, kid. Dinya might faint if you don’t watch your language," chuckled Mal.

"Pff, she serves Riften, she’s heard worse," I countered, eyes locked on the scenery. Nonetheless I made a mental note to apply the no-swearing-in-church rule to the temple. I mean, even if you didn’t believe there were still certain standards of politeness you just didn’t mess with. And these gods were real.

"Aye, doesn’t mean she's going to expect a mouth like yours out of a face like that."

"If you call me cute-"

"Cute? You? All snarly and clawed?" She laughed. "Never in ten eras."

That made me smile, much as I tried not to. "Shut it- Sam hell, that was a suthay-raht- _Argonian-!_ " I whipped around, trying to get a better look through the rearview window. Too late. The colorful splash of scales - actually scales - had vanished into the passing scenery.

"Don’t know, didn’t see it. I’m guessing you don't have beastfolk either?"

"Hell nah. Just humans. Don’t think for a second we needed any other races to be ugly to each other though. I mean, people are just dicks.”

She hummed. “That’s the truth.” Giving me a side eye, Mal asked, “Think you can be polite to Dinya?”

Looking back to the ranger with an affronted expression, I said, “She’s a lovely person, more like than not to be a lovely mother, and why in the hell wouldn’t I be?”

With a shake of her head, Mal replied, “If I catch you staring…”

“Ain’t gonna stare… directly...” That was an outright lie. As we headed into the old city, even passing under the eras old city wall, I knew I was probably going to be staring at everything for the rest of the day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, I did the thing! Bear with me, this things been percolating for [literally] years. Still nailing down mid to end game, but the biggest issue is - as always - grinding out the boring parts. Also, no beta reader so deepest apologies - I know there's some weak parts. Gonna run in more or less shorter chapters than intended but maybe that way it won't be months between them, so, here's to hoping!  
> Oh, uh, and I hope folks enjoy!


	2. "How in Mora’s betentacled ass crack-?"

Amidst the strange sights that the morning had thus far offered, one thing caught my notice more and more after we had parked on a side street to walk to the temple. Passing a watchman writing someone a fine - quite possibly undeserved by the person’s face and fuss - the question spilled out, confused. "Mal? Why do the guards have swords and axes and crossbows?"

She spared me a frown. "What else would they have? Not a lot of people using long arms in the Rift.” When she realized I’d stopped in my tracks, the ranger turned, arms out. “What? Are you coming?”

_Guess you’re a bow hunter, then._

_What else would I be?_

After a moment spent parsing this, I asked a nearly rhetorical question, "Do you know what a gun is?"

She tilted her head. “Gun?”

“Uh, a rifle? Firearm? Boom stick?” Each sobriquet grew progressively more perplexed in tone, as did her expression, at least until it appeared a light clicked on.

“Oh, an arquebus!” Once again, Mal’s brows knitted together - harder - and she demanded, “Why in Oblivion would city watch carry hand cannons?”

I sat down on a nearby bench - thankfully snow-free, and vacantly at the strange world around me. “Holy hell. Y’all don’t guns. Artillery?”

She waved a hand dismissively in tandem with a loud raspberry. “That’s for wars, not peace keeping. Not that they _do that!_ ” she added in a sneer at a passing guardsman. The other Nord narrowed his eyes at her but otherwise walked on. Mal rolled her eyes and sat beside me, arms stretching out across the back of the bench. “What’s with you? Why the preoccupation with weapons?”

“Because I’m tryin’ to wrap my head around a world with TV and internet and monsters and no guns," I said. “Also how that came about since if it was a matter of magic bein’ so prevalent that they never needed to go the guns route past cannons then how they decide that peacetime technology’s worth pursuin’?”

“Because people fighting wars are more willing to pay for magical solutions,” she answered, leaning back. “Getting a sending all the time’s expensive. The teleport network run by the Imperial Mages Guild in the Third Era’s everyone’s favorite example. It was way too expensive to run, maintain, and use. Burned out mages left and right, it’s why they’d discontinued it by the end of the Era. But who wouldn’t want more effective transportation? There were just enough scholars who got sick of shaky carts and long sea voyages, and plenty of Dwemer researchers with some brave ideas. Void, the Dwemer Revival was just as much a backlash against the magic that caused the Oblivion Crisis as a response to the need for cheaper solutions.”

That did make a certain amount of sense. I guess. And I supposed there were enough people who didn’t like magic - or elves and thus magic - who would rather something entirely banal. But something else aboutthe answer distracted my train of thought. Squinting, I asked, “You some kind of historian?”

Mal laughed. “Nah, I had a friend who was, though. He found a Dwemer boom stick once. Nearly blew us all up with it. Nobody was very impressed.”

I rubbed my cheek, thinking over it. “So, this shit’s… what, normal? Like people usually learn to fight with weapons?”

She shrugged. “Most learn some basic moves, most dads teach their daughters how to use a knife. Anyone wanting to go into the Legion picks up a sword, real serious people start learning sword and spear for formations. Hunting’s still a pretty common thing here in Skyrim at least. Homesteaders are pretty well armed, learn well, too, if they want to survive out in the countryside. Plenty of lawless shits out there still raiding smaller settlements and homesteads.”

“Christ, I can’t tell if no guns makes me happy or if primitive weapons everywhere scares the everlovin’ shit outta me- no, you know what, nevermind. Everythin’ about this scares me,” I groaned, face in my hands. It did, too. I got fireballs and lightning bolts on an academic - and game - level, but if no one had wanted to bother with guns then they had to be pretty powerful - and terrifying. Also the impression that nearly everyone carried some sort of weapon made my skin crawl. Pepper spray? Okay. Occasional taser? Fine. Swords and daggers? I was not actually okay with this. 

That next to last thought hit me again. If weapons were so common, then... “Do you carry?”

“Yep.” Just matter of fact. Foregone conclusion, even. May as well have asked her if she had a phone.

“Will you tell me what and where?”

The corner of her mouth ticked up despite the apparent sympathy. “Nope. It obviously wouldn’t help you any. C’mon,” she said, clapping my shoulder and standing. “Let’s get on to the temple. We’re nearly there.”

I think I would have preferred to go back to bed, but since we were more than halfway there then I might as well see it through. We crossed one more street before coming to the walled temple courtyard. The ivy that grew on the walls remained green and vibrant, offsetting the white snow and russet banners with their gilded designs. Printed canvas I decided as I leaned in to look at them. Maybe it was cheaper. Or maybe hooligans kept stealing them. Kids do dumb things, speaking from experience. 

The guards at their posts to either side of the arched entrance - almost entirely covered in more ivy - probably didn’t give a rat’s left nut about their job. One _clearly_ texted on his flip phone. The other took a nap against the wall. How inspiring.

“Disgrace,” I muttered, twirling a finger three times.

A bird landed atop the wall over the sleeper, dislodging snow and sending it cascading down. The guard woke with a start, sputtering and brushing off snow. It turned into cursing when the bird dropped a load on him.

Snickering, I continued into the courtyard with Mal, who asked quietly, “Did you do that?”

“Got no way to prove it,” I answered honestly. “But I don’t mind thinkin’ so.”

“You did a little...” Mal twirled her finger to illustrate.

I shrugged. “Sometimes shit happens. If I happen to nudge that shit along, a’ight then. Nudges are easier than shoves anyhow.”

She raised her eyes skyward. “Divines please forgive my house guest.“

Upon stepping inside the temple it was as if a blanket of peace and contentment - and perhaps most significantly warmth - had wrapped around me. Stepping into a church or a synagogue or a mosque was one thing. They had an air to them, of course, from the faith and belief of those that walked their halls, the accumulated reverence. The Temple of Mara possessed a distinct _thrum_ of presence. Sure it had what the houses of worship I knew had, but it was that presence that set it apart from them entirely. It was as if the very walls breathed an echo of love and compassion. 

It felt as if I had stepped into the same room as something much older and much, much bigger. 

Grabbing Mal’s arm, I tugged her just to the right of the door. “Mal.”

“What’s the matter? You going to burn or something?” she joked.

“Do you feel that when you step in?” I asked her seriously. “Like you stepped into a different… shi- shoot, like, does it just feel different than outside?”

That gave her pause, and she shoved a blond curl back under her beanie. “You mean the heaviness?”

Okay, close enough. I nodded. “Sure.”

With a shrug she answered, “I mean, most temples are like that. You said it yourself, kid, the gods are real. You can feel them in their temples and holy places. Some people more than others.”

“Dang,” I muttered. It wasn’t a bad feeling, just unfamiliar to me. Almost unnatural. _Definitely_ no swearing in here.

“Look, there’s Dinya,” Mal said, pulling me along. Probably was, too. The slate blue skin, the ruby eyes- that alone was enough to blow my mind even after all else I’d seen.

My momma all but beat etiquette into my head. I _knew_ my etiquette even if I didn’t always use it. But one thing you never did under any circumstance was stare. And I stared the whole way over, even as Dinya spotted Mal and smiled.

“Malski, it’s good to see you again. It’s been some time,” she said, hugging the ranger. Said ranger giving her an awkward pat.

“Yeah, good to see you, too,” Mal replied, sliding out of the embrace. Gesturing to me, she swiftly moved on with the visit. “So I picked this kid up last night during a bar fight. Little lost, I’m putting her up for a minute. Just wanted to make sure she didn’t have a concussion or anything. Seems she doesn’t get out much, so she might forget if she’s _staring some_.” The last was said pointedly at me.

Cheeks flushing, I looked at the ceiling. Hand-carved designs on just about everything. Very pretty, very Nordic. The moue of sympathy Mal’s pronouncement earned me pulled my gaze right back down, however. Dinya gestured to a door off to the side of the hall. “Please, come with me. I’m more than happy to help.” Expression falling an inch, she added, “It’s been all too slow in here of late…”

“Nothing like a war to bring people together,” Mal told her as the priestess led the way. “Just wait, soon enough they’ll be crowding the hall. Wounded and panicking.”

“Thank you, Malski. That was inspirational,” sighed Dinya.

Honestly I was too busy watching Dinya’s… everything to think about what they were saying. As she closed the door to the small sitting room behind us I asked, “I, uh, I really don’t wanna be rude, but… could I, like, look at you?"

Dinya passed Mal a questioning glance. "I’m sorry?" Mal, for her part, sighed and put a hand to her face in embarrassment as she leaned against the wall.

"I've never… seen a mer before and you're also kind of amazin’ in the face and I’m just gonna shut my trap," I rambled, face hot and gaze firmly on the floor by the end of it. Might as well have actually stuck my foot in my mouth. Well, no, I should have done that instead. Hands over my face, I mumbled, "Sorry, that was awful-"

A hand gently pulled mine down. Dinya bent slightly to put her face on level with mine. Her smile could have been the poster child for kind. "Malski, you didn’t tell me she was a flatterer."

“Oh my god, can the earth swallow me whole now-”

“Here, sit beside me,” said the mer, taking a seat on the wooden bench next to a small coffee table. “You can look at me all you like while I cast some diagnostic spells. You don’t mind, of course?”

“Not a whit,” I answered, sitting as well. But the second that pale golden light bloomed around her hands - complete anathema to every single thing I thought I knew about reality, screw the past twelve hours - I jerked back in shock, nearly falling off the bench and knocking into a statue of Mara on a display table behind it. "Jesus fuckin’ Christ-"

“I’m so sorry! Are you alright?” gasped Dinya, rising to a knee in alarm. No magic around her hands this time as she reached forward. 

Mal too had stepped forward in her own mild alarm. “Easy, Des, it’s just Restoration. Nothing to lose your shirt over.”

"Sorry-! I know, sorry! I expected that and I still wasn’t remotely ready for it. Son of a bitch- biscuit eater, crap- _crud!_ ” Just seeing _high magic_ had my brain trying to draw a line in the sand. Khajiit, Saxhleel and mer were one thing, because as unnatural to my experience as they were they still boiled down to flesh and blood entities that could be parsed in terms of shape and form and texture that behaved in ways that conformed to the laws of physics. The magic _I_ practiced seemed likely, at the least functioning as neural programming and at best affecting small changes upon the flow of the world around me. _High magic_ put any visualization work I’d ever done to shame, could be seen by any and everyone to boot, and did _actual concrete things that you could quantify._ “That was actual magic, real glowin' sparkle finger high magic. Lord almighty…”

Perplexed, the mer sat back on the bench once more. "Are you- have you been living in a closed community? You sound otherwise socialized."

I looked to Mal for a moment; she shrugged. So the priestess got a straight, matter of fact answer. "I'm not from Nirn. No magic or non-humans. Or, well, gods, no offense to you or Mara. Could you do, like, I dunno, somethin’ else not on me so I can see it?"

"I, ah…" Dinya rubbed her cheek, caught off guard by the statement. "Er, Malski, would you get me that candle?"

"Sure." A moment later the Nord handed her the item and Dinya held it out to show me. 

"Magic is nothing to be afraid of on its own, my child," she said, lighting the wick with her free hand. Fire just coalesced from nowhere, a spiral out of nothing that caught and held the wick. I felt something as she did, too, something like a prickle under the skin, with a hint of that pressure that came when doing charms and the odd ritual at home. "The most you have to fear is-"

"Can you do that in your hand and hold it?" I interrupted. "Sorry, but I think I feel it."

Once more surprise colored her face. "You feel it?"

I nodded. "I think so.”

Pursing her lips, Dinya seemed to consider it. “Here. Close your eyes, let me make sure you’re unharmed, and you can tell me if you feel it. Sense injury is very rarely felt by patients, unlike healing hand. We can try with the tinder spell again afterward.”

Lips twisting, I nodded again and closed my eyes as she asked. “A’ight then. Just don’t tell me when.”

“Of course not. Wouldn’t want to spoil it,” agreed the mer. As she spoke that touch of pressure settled between my ears again, almost a sub-spectrum hum. The only unsettling thing about it, really, was that it was so unusual. It only _reminded_ me of channeling my own energy. I guess the best way to describe it would be a note you hear, but just off-key. 

Training my focus I felt that pressure move down my neck. So I pointed at it, following it with my finger down to my sternum, a likely spontaneous detour up the shoulder and arm of my pointing hand, then back down my chest and stomach. The process took perhaps five minutes before the sensation vanished.

“Think she’s onto something,” remarked Mal as I opened my eyes to see Dinya giving me a nearly surprised smile. “Had you down the whole time.”

“I agree. Mysticism isn’t considered a school of magic anymore, but there are still those who study and practice it. You might find one to instruct you - I think you’d take well to it.”

“Mysticism is one of the best schools,” I said automatically.

Yeah, Dinya definitely looked more on the confused side again. “Uh, right… Well, you seem to be in sound health-”

“I know this isn't your thing, and its just as like askin’ too much, but could you teach me that fire spell?"

Mal muttered a quiet oath. Dinya rubbed the top of her left hand, looking between me and the ranger. "I, well, I could perhaps try to teach you to light a candle… perhaps ten, fifteen minutes?"

"Yes, please," I whispered reverently. "Mal-?"

She shrugged again. "I'm runnin' across the street. Be back in a few minutes, Dinya. Don’t burn down the temple, kid.”

It took eight minutes for it to process, for the concept to sink in. It took two more minutes to really figure out where the magicka was coming from - within and yet beyond all at the same time. About one more minute under her guidance saw the candle sputtering to life at my hand.

"Oh my god-" I let go of the spell abruptly in shock.

"Very good!" Dinya said proudly. "You learn quickly. Perhaps you have some Breton blood in you."

Shaking my head and trying the spell again, I said, "No, I really don't- _oh my god-_ ” A single flame danced on the tip of my finger. I may or may not have let out a squeak of utter joy.

She patted my shoulder. “Keep practicing. Flames is very similar, and can be a deterrent in dangerous situations. Few of the misguided souls on these streets will press an attack if they think you could burn them alive with a gesture. Just be wary of the guards - it's not strictly legal to display Destruction magic on the streets.” Standing, Dinya gestured to the door. “You may come out when you are ready, but I must attend to my duties.”

“Thanks…”

After spending about two minutes marveling - at which point the flame sputtered and I had to put my head down, dizzy - I returned to the main hall. No sign of Mal, so why not check it out? I walked around, being mindful of the bare handful of worshipers and the two lone acolytes tending to flock and chores. Dinya appeared to be involved with counseling a couple in a rear corner. 

Eventually my steps landed me before the shrine. Lifeless bronze eyes stared back at me from the holy statue. Whoever had sculpted it had done a decent job, however. She did look like she wanted to take everyone under her wing and comfort them. As much as I could appreciate the work everything about it suddenly hit a nerve.

"You know, I might settle for an explanation," I muttered. "You get me home, start a whole dang temple for you myself."

Nothing, as expected, though the air around me may have hung warmer than before. Maybe it was the magic, the stress of the entire situation, or all of that and more but the burgeoning anger died abruptly. A sigh spoke to my emotional exhaustion.

"At least cut me some slack. Get Kynareth to send me some good luck or somethin’. I'm pretty much up a creek without a paddle. Got nothin' and nobody but Mal, bless her, and my phone's deader’n a doornail by tonight, most like." The thought once again made my chest constrict. My voice dropped to a whisper. "Everythin' home I've got's on there. Music, books, work… all my _pictures_ …"

Again, nothing. I don't know what I expected. Gods weren't real. Well, I guess technically they were here. But they sure as hell didn't bother with mortals unless they needed something. Shoulders heavy, I turned and looked up at the clerestory windows that streamed rays of morning light into the temple. “I dunno what the point is. Prayin’ was never more use than a screendoor on a sub, and Aedra put their power in the makin’. What’ve they even got left if they cared?”

The light seemed to grow brighter, the space illuminating from it. That low key hum that had so struck me upon first entering the temple grew into a nearly audible thing that thrummed through my very bones. The presence likewise intensified, wrapping around me like the ghost of my parents’ embrace. Truly, for a moment, one breath-stealing moment, I thought despite everything that it was them. 

And then the moment passed. The light dimmed, the presence faded. I turned to regard the shrine - glinting ever innocently in the morning sun once more. But slowly I realized that people were watching me. And not just the usual ‘glance over at movement,’ I mean actually watching me. One couple sitting on the outside of a pew, whispering to each other. A little girl with her mother, tugging on the woman’s sleeve and pointing.

“Did you see, mama? Did you see?”

An acolyte, probably Briehl, smiled at me and bowed his head momentarily in respect.

Suddenly _massively_ weirded out, skin crawlingly weirded out even, I put my head down and walked back to the entry to sit on a bench nearby. Just studiously ignore everyone. Maybe walking around the courtyard would-

The door opened and Mal passed by. I jumped up and darted over to grab her arm. “Hey, you’re back, great, let’s go.” 

Brows furrowing in wary confusion, she looked around but let me pull her back to the exit. “Uh, well, alright… Why are people staring at you?” she muttered as we walked back out into the cold and light. That sense of warmth and comfort didn’t go away, however. It just… softened.

Lifting a shoulder with more nonchalance than I felt, I said, “Beats the hell outta me. Thought shrine blessin’s were normal round here.”

“Wait, you got a blessing from the shrine?” she asked, stopping me with an arm thrown out. “You mean you talked to the shrine and it actually blessed you?”

“…yes?” I answered hesitantly. “Is that _not_ normal? Or was that a gameplay mechanic?”

Arm dropping, Mal looked at me askance, head tilted to the side. “Starting to wonder what to make of you, Des.” But she started walking again, heading around the back of the temple. The path led between the ground-level Hall of the Dead and the graveyard. “No, shrine blessings aren’t normal. They happen, but not even every other week.”

I stumbled on an ice patch but managed to stay upright. “You mean I just had a divine hoodoo in public? Son of a bitch, that ain’t a first impression I wanna make.”

Mal barked out a laugh. “Kid, isn’t a stanger impression than the one you made on Dinya!”

“Hey, shit is weird, okay? I was well within rights to flip my shit about magic,” I said defensively. And then I beamed, holding up my hand and letting the little flame flicker within. “I can do high magic. This is fuckin’ wild.”

“Pff, put that away,” she snorted, shoving my hand aside.

“Maaagiiiic!”

“C'mon kid, you're gonna make people nervous.” 

"Am I makin' you nervous?"

"Damn right you are. You just learned that five minutes ago, stop playing with it. Come on, no spells inside," she groused, opening the door to what turned out to be the temple thrift shop. "Let's get you some clothes and a jacket next. Still gotta pick up some groceries and check on the Forelhost post. Think you can manage to not burn down my house while I'm out?"

"Yes, ma'am," I replied with a sincere nod. "Got College folk and communications to research. I could chop wood or shovel the front if you want, though. I can do chores."

"Divines. Start with the dishes if you can’t help yourself. Now go pick some clothes. Better not be any weak materials, either, I'm going to check."

Mal had pretty much put herself onto the 'like' list the previous evening; by this point she had dug in and added fortifications. She sent me back to the racks twice because a shirt and a pair of jeans hadn't met her approval. "That's real nice. Put it back, its thinner than a sheet."

"Layerin’!" I exasperated, gesturing to what I wore.

"Laundry!" she retorted, giving me a gentle shove. "You have to have at least three actual outfits so you’ve got two while one's in the wash! There's snow out there! Gets things wet!"

"Okay, mother!"

"Blighted sassface." However, the ranger was all stifled smiles as she found some things for herself. 

For my part it was nice to have someone care that much again, no matter how short lived it might be. Maybe I had stayed too solitary after Dad's passing… My chest constricted, thinking about Bertie's last text. It was the stress of the setting and the unplanned wait that had made me blow him off, but my cousin was ride-or-die. I loved him within an inch of his life no matter how much I wanted to physically kick him out of my studio when he dropped in. And I do mean with studded steel toe boots. Plus his wife had always been an absolute angel, with the little munchkins my favorites. 

_It's not like that._

_C'mon Des._

"Hey, you alright?" I turned to find Mal staring at me, a pinch to her forehead.

"Yeah," I said softly. "Just thinkin' bout my cousin. I was meetin' him at a bar. He got caught at work and I blew him off. Last thing I said to him…"

She squeezed my shoulder. "I know what you mean, kid. I lost one of my dearest friends years back - two, really. The one I'd last called him a fool and told him I'd break his face if he spoke about my man that way. The other… well," she sighed and repositioned the ceramic pots in her arms. "Let's just say time will give you plenty of regrets. But you play it right and you'll have enough good memories to balance it out. Or you go home and grovel and spend all the time you can with them."

"Yeah…" I lifted my garment-draped arm a little. "Think I'm good."

"Alright. Found another something else for you, too, but you can check it out when we get back. First is the store." 

* * *

I carried in as much as Mal would let me, and she certainly didn’t hold back. Once inside she put away the groceries while I sorted out the other purchases. A toothbrush and some deodorant went with my clothes and messenger bag. Mal's pots went out to the tiny greenhouse butted up against the back right of the kitchen. But I came back inside with what had been nestled within them.

"Mal, is this really what I think it is?" I asked, staring at the dime-store-novel-sized pseudo 1940s textbook. The _magic_ textbook. The _Primer for Young Mages_ book.

She grinned at me as she made two open faced sandwiches at the same time. "Sure is. It's as basic as you can get, probably older than I am, but maybe that'll get you started and give you some safety tips."

"As evinced by the chapter titled 'Spellcastin' Safety.'" 

Tone smug, Mal agreed. "Exactly."Her eyes widened as I darted close and hugged her, squeezing tight and avoiding the spread knife. "Whoa now, alright, no touchy feely tripe, I’m letting you stay in my house, don’t ruin this-” 

Letting go I held up the book again. “You’re a fuckin’ saint and you deserve oodles of good.” 

She barked out a laugh and put down the knife. “By the Eight, a saint! I have to call Inguth or Del, they’d die to hear that.” 

“I don’t know who they are, but they’d be like to agree.” 

“Oh, the stories we could tell,” she chuckled as she refocused on the sandwiches. “Get us something to drink and sit down.” 

Mal left just before eleven to drive up to the Forelhost Outlook. From the description she gave me, it was just as much an observatory and ranger station as it was a guard against the inhabitants of the ancient fortress. Naturally this left me to my own devices. That was okay. I had a plan. And given the how the morning went, I felt pretty optimistic. I even had magic to learn. But my optimism died pretty quick. 

There's a finite amount of research one can do in a personal library with only a local phone book and no internet. Especially when your topic of research and their interests don’t align. She had an impressively varied selection of books covering nature, geography, history, arts, religion, and a slew of other topics. Magic just didn’t figure into those other topics much for her. Mal did have an Encyclopedia Imperatoria set, however, which was easily enough to take up an hour of time reading through at random. Still there was only so much information it could provide given it dated to before the Great War and really didn’t cover more about faculty than ‘Arch-Mage Savos Aren’ and ‘Arch-Wizard Mirabelle Ervine.’ So I moved to my new primer instead.

It covered one basic spell in addition to an overview of each school, with the exception of Conjuration and Restoration. The latter offered healing hands and lesser wardFlames, candlelight, and couragecompleted the selection. Having tinder already down, flames seemed the next logical step as Dinya had suggested. That took… perhaps an hour? An hour of figurative brute forcing the magicka like a bull in a china shop. Destruction might be a finesse school at higher levels, but right now it sure as hell didn’t feel like it. The process gave me an idea of the limits of my magicka, however. Either I had very little of it, or my spellcasting muscles were weak as shit. Either seemed plausible for my first day of high magic ever. Frequent breaks were required throughout.

Granted after I nearly set the rug on fire I left flames alone anyway. Good use of the term ‘mortified.’ Paint as much as I like and not a drop anywhere on the floor. Learn magic, burn the rug. In my defense to Mal later I did point out it was just a faint brown mark. Shave and a haircut would fix it. She still swore she'd hamstring me if i did it again. 

Healing hands was practically the polar opposite of flames. Everything about the way it felt, the way it functioned… It was a gentle affirmation of life and structure and care. It supported and repaired. It came much easier, my trouble with magicka so far notwithstanding.

As I got the hang of it a thought occurred to me that sent ice straight down my spine. I flipped to a new page on the legal pad Mal had provided and turned on my phone. There should be enough battery left to do this, at least. I laid down the foundation sketch as it booted. Once it did I went straight into my family photos folder and pulled up a photo of my mother. No detail was too small. Annotations soon littered the page, color notes. A reminder that her eyes used to close every time she laughed. That mole on her other cheek, near her ear, the one she would rub when she considered what to cook for Sunday potlucks before just asking me to bake something. My father came next, same scenario. The way storm grey rings led to nearly golden amber irises. The scar over his left eye, how it bisected his eyebrow in white when he frowned at his crosswords. The godawful Hawaiian shirts he had been so fond of-

My phone suddenly trilled, a notification dropping down from the tray. 

_Breaking News: Legion Assaults Fort Dunstad._

The notification went away, leaving me staring and wondering if I had really just seen that.

My eyes registered my cellular data. 4G…? Wi-Fi four bars…? Was I…?

News app. Legion assaults Fort Dunstad. Tensions on the Empire/Dominion border. Council of Jarls officially suspended until further notice, thanks to the eastern holds turning on the western with Eastmarch in the lead after _someone’s_ spectacular turn at diplomacy the prior month. Half the roads between the eastern and western holds entirely closed by soldiers, with Whiterun being surrounded by pseudo-customs checkpoints since Balgruuf refused to take a side. Another daedra-cult flushed out of the hills in Falkreath - definitely not Siddgeir's doing. Forsworn attacks-

Weather app. Riften, Skyrim. 5 Morning star, 201. 21 degrees outside. Low -6, high-

Web browser. Quest! No, that was the name of it, Quest! Search, _University of Winterhold contact information_. Office of Admissions. Office of the Chancellor and Archmage. Office of the Vice-Chancellor and Arch-Wizard. Arcane College of Winterhold. Følling-Otharvel College of Medicine and Restoration. College of Geophysical Science and Engineering-

Battery still shitty low at 11%.

Battery still shitty low at 10%.

9%…

8%…

Apparently there were still limits to my ability to process. Once my rational mind decided to come out of its blue screen of death I nearly ate carpet in my haste to get to the kitchen. I say nearly. Nobody was there to witness any sort of tripping on the hall rug or slamming into the wall. There, by the phone on the desk, was the post-it that Mal had left with three numbers. One, Dinya. Two, fire service. Three, the ranger’s personal mobile.

It took a few attempts mangling the number before I got it in and hit _call_.

One heartbeat. Two heartbeat-

Dial tone. That crappy sound had never sounded sweeter. Obnoxiously so. Three rings-

_‘What in the Void? Who is this?_ ’ Couldn’t tell you which she sounded more, offended someone had her number or baffled by mine.

A hysteric laugh spilled out. “Oh my god, am I actually crazy or is this workin’?”

For one moment there was only silence from the other end. Then, a splutter. ‘ _Des? How in Mora’s betentacled asscrack-?_ ’ 

“I don’t know!”

_‘What do you mean, you don’t know?! You’re the magic one! This is- this is-_ ’

“Ha ha ha! I don’t even care how insane any of this is! Oh, let me check somethin’-!” As she continued to sputter at reality not making sense - join the club, Mal - I flipped my phone to look at the power input. That was decidedly _not_ a micro USB slot. “HA! Where do you keep your charger, Mal? I think it’ll take it!”

_‘That doesn’t even make any sense-!’_ fumed the ranger.

“I know! And at this point, fuck it, I’m gonna go with it!”

She made a sound of pure exasperation. _‘Check the left desk drawer in the kitchen. Behave yourself, better not be burning down my house. See you around six.’_

Face hurting with the smile that stretched across it, I said, “Yes ma’am. Have a good shift.”

Mal scoffed and hung up. I went to check the drawer, found the charger, and sure enough it fit. Returning to the living room I set back in to my work. First plug it in, enjoy the ‘charging’ icon, then turn on some music. _Graceland,_ Paul Simon. I could work with that.

My father stared up at me from the legal pad. I didn’t need to finish this task now, but as I tore off the pages and laid mom and dad next to each other, I decided I wanted to. At this rate who knew what would happen next? Bertie’s big eyes, the easy smile and awkward nose… The squeak when he sneezed. That stupid FitBit and those trendy glasses. How easily he’d pout when trying to rope me into something. I never had been able to turn him down. Fucking dork. Would I absolutely give him a dressing down and reserve those stupid Blizzcon tickets the next time I saw him? Yes, yes I would.

The afternoon passed in pictures and magic, a wistful blend of hope and longing. Sometimes I would turn the TV on and watch the news or whatever drama or talk show was on for five minutes. It would sound and look like any broadcast at home until a non-human came on or i started listening to the content. That got just a little too weird to handle for long, so I’d go back to research on the University. Really I figured they were my best non-painfully-experimental shot. If anybody was going to have an idea, after all, surely someone there would.

* * *

Sometimes the similarities unnerved me to hell and back. But the fact that the mint green range in Mal’s kitchen heart was laid out and operated a lot like one of my old neighbors’ vintage Wedgewood, well, that I could deal with. The smell of apple cinnamon hung like a cloud, soothing the reemerging stress just enough to breathe again. Baking didn’t ease my mind. The _smells_ did. 

It was a smell of peace and home, of comfort. The smells could always bring back memories of midnight cookie batches with their giggles and flour-smeared faces. Birthday cakes for the people you really cared about, and you knew would appreciate them. Church bake sales with the camaraderie they brought, for all the god awful preaching that inevitably included. Get well pies with that little something _extra_ to help them get back on their feet quicker. Housewarming bundts that inevitably led to slices and wineglasses and a nearly empty serving plate after an afternoon gone by in conversation. Apple cinnamon crostata was a smell that brought its own dull ache with it but somehow made me feel… safer.

A collection of names, emails, and phone numbers peeked up at me from under the notepad by my cell. The current page on the pad had been reserved for brainstorming my cold calls to the top folks at the Arcane College. Turned out the _University_ of Winterhold was a lot bigger than I had expected. Anyway, how the hell did you direct a call like this? Hi, my name is Des Hollins and I come from another universe; can I speak with the Dean of Conjuration, please? Yeah, and I needed them to test a  banish spell on me like I needed a hole in my head. Being stuck in the Mundus versus potentially getting tossed into some random pocket of Oblivion was a no-brainer. Brainstorming an email subject didn’t go any more smoothly. So completely focused it came as a surprise when Malski stood in the kitchen door, yawning.

“What in Oblivion are you doing?” Heavy sleeper, that one; voice slurred and husky. The ranger shoved blonde curls from her face, eyes half shut. Her nose twitched with every sniff. “And what smells so good?”

“Sorry.” Sheepishly, I titled my head towards the oven. “I couldn’t sleep so, uh, I sort of raided your pantry. Apple crostata. Half stress relief, half thank you.” Under the skeptical look she had leveled at me I rubbed my cheek and admitted, “Okay, maybe partly to get my hands on your mighty sexy stove.”

Chuffing, Mal shook her head and headed to the pantry. “Got a witch who’s never seen magic and thinks my stove is sexy. For your sake I’ll assume I’m still asleep.”

I chuckled at her summary. “Hey, it’s a very fine getup. If it’s as vintage as I think, I bet it don’t break down half as bad as new ones, either. And an even-heatin’ oven ain’t nothin’ to scoff at.”

The Nord came out with a bottle of still mead as I spoke. She pulled out a small saucepan from a cabinet and set it on the stove. “Aye, all the new ones have too many moving parts for my taste.”

“Exactly!” I clapped a hand on the table. “If it ain’t broke, don’t fix it! …whatcha doin’?”

“Mulled mead,” she answered with a lopsided grin, using a corkscrew on the bottle. “How much longer for that?”

Scrunching up the left side of my face, I leaned over to peek through the oven window. “Uh, ten minutes? It’s gotta rest another ten, anyway.”

“Great. That gives us plenty of time. You think you might be allergic to any of these spices?” The cork came out with a satisfying _pop_. 

“Hopin’ not,” I answered, going to the spice cabinet. “Ain’t seized or choked up yet, tasted ‘em all just to see what I was workin’ with. Which you want?”

“Nothing too wild. Vanilla, orange peel, little bit of thyme.”

“Hell nah, that’s fine,” I answered, pulling out the requested goods. “Used to make an orange thyme cake for my aunt. Could probably do that out without too much trouble.”

She grinned at me while she added the ingredients to the mead on the stove. “Got yourself a little repertoire, huh?”

I shrugged. “Want whipped cream? Just need a jar.” 

Small talk over vigorous jar shaking and crostata checking later, we sat with (not very) responsibly adult-like slices piled with whipped cream at the table. The mugs of mead had been suitably oversized, too. Mal had winked, saying everyone needed jumbo dessert sometimes.

“This is damn good,” hummed the ranger over her plate.

“It was my grans's recipe. Dad taught it to me after she passed. Course it was usually cookies we made at this hour…”

Mal smiled. “Get that from him, huh?”

With a shrug I replied, “It rubbed off.“ 

She took another bite and proceeded to talk around it. “You bake other things, I’m guessing?”

I shrugged again, prodded my slice with my fork. “Tons of stuff.”

She swallowed it down before sitting back with a satisfied sigh. As she picked up her mug, she stated, “So Winterhold.”

Mouth inconveniently full, I hmmed inquisitively at her.

"Well, we've got to get you to Winterhold," she said. "We'll have to check but I think a train ticket's anywhere from 200 to 300 septim this time of year. You're lucky you're in the east and not the west or you'd never get through without the right paperwork..." The crostata had already soured in my mouth at those numbers, but the mention of paperwork made my stomach drop. So did my expression for that matter. Mal's thoughtful look grew more perturbed at about the same pace, probably realizing I didn't _have_ paperwork. "Ah."

"Yeah, that ain't a problem at all," I deadpanned. Inside it sounded less snarky and more 'oh my god why' on repeat with an 'accidental illegal immigration' thrown in. Which I later laughed hysterically at. Someone cleverer than me could've gotten a great protest poster out of that, most like. But that really did worry me. If the Dragonborn got nabbed for crossing the border without proper papers, what in hell might they do to someone who basically didn't exist? To say nothing of the rest of my problems...

"You know, no, I don't think it is," she said, tapping the side of her mug. The ranger had returned to contemplative. "No, no, we can work this. I think I know a way to get you your ticket and some papers."

What. I eyed her in no small amount of disbelief. "This sounds illegal. Thought you was a Hold employee."

Mal chuckled and got up to grab her phone off the kitchen desk. She returned, composing a text by the look of it. "We all have our youths, kid... Cam owes me a favor but I know for a fact what she keeps in her case is crap, and she can scare one of the kids into cutting some red tape. At the very least it'd be enough to get you up there-" Abruptly lighting up with a grin, she pointed at the half-gone crostata. "You take her one of those to seal the deal, I bet she'll pay you a ticket just to bake for a week or two."

"...yeah, no, I need you to explain this," I said, shaking my head. Maybe I was ready to go back to sleep again, but I sure wasn't entirely following.

"My friend owns a coffee shop with awful muffins. She'd love to have some of this," Mal pointed at the pastry. "On top of that she owes me a favor. Her and another old friend of mine know people who do their own paperwork. We'll get you to Winterhold."

"Won't that cost an arm and a leg? I can't really pay y'all back," I pointed out.

Mal's phone buzzed. "Sure you can. You bake... and Cam says you can take one over tomorrow. Listen, I like you well enough but I like my space more. You seem like a good kid, so why shunt you off to someone who might raise flags, eh? We'll just get you where you need to go.”

"And the fact that I can't drive here...?"

“Oh, I think we’ll work something out.” Malski looked at the crostata. “How long this take? Think you could make another tonight?”

A tentative smile crossed my face. “If you don’t mind me really ransackin’ your stuff, I could do a mean berry tart.”

My new friend chuckled and speared the last of her slice with her fork. "Biggest reason I want you out: I could get fat if I kept you.” Abruptly, she asked, “What did you do to this?”

Brow arching I returned, “Made it?”

Mal wiggled her fingers. “Witchy.”

I shrugged. “Good luck?” Letting a sly grin slip out I added, “Made the crust look real pretty, ringin’ it with runes.”

She snorted and reached over to snag a forkful from my plate. "You aren't going to need luck tomorrow, just another one of these crostatas."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Going ahead and tossing this one up. Next update in the next couple weeks most like.


	3. "Bet they eat cheese from a can, the heathen."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry for the chapter repost, had to fix

Mal hadn’t told me much. _Cam’s sending someone over to get you. Don’t worry, she’d kill anyone who messed with you and I’d never let her hear the end of it. Just lock up when you leave. There’s a key on top of the last window on the left._

So after retrieving the key I’d hung out in the living room, listening to music and reading recipes. Different names, but much of it was otherwise similar. Really I’d be eyeballing it just like my father and his mother before had taught me. The biggest takeaway for me were the temperatures listed. That could break me.

The sound of a car crunching over snow and gravel pulled my ear and gaze. A dull bronze hatchback coupe, multiple dents and a few long scratches in the paint, pulled around parallel to the porch. It just _looked_ old, not quite as old as Mal’s, but kind of like the very early 80’s wanted it back. Thing was it sounded well kept. And by that I mean the _only_ sounds to issue from it were crunching gravel and a low purr. No whines, no engine sputters, no nothing. It parked, and the engine turned off. Then the driver got out.

He might have been about my age, definitely a man rather than the gangly youth I would have expected from a coffee shop. Slim and trim, with the broader shoulders of a swimmer. The way he moved, however, suggested a grace far more fluid than most people I met. Ashen brown hair, carelessly shoved behind his ears and hanging down to his chin, ruffled in the breeze. Irritably he reached up and yanked his hood over his head, tugging the drawstring tight after. He blew into cupped hands before shoving them back into the pockets of his jacket. If it weren’t for the fact that I was passing through, I might have said he was cute. 

I pulled my sweater and jacket on as my apparent ride knocked on the door. “Comin’!” Bag, key, phone, earbuds, shades, all good. And foil covered plate with the crostata. Excellent. About to open the door, I paused. Well, yes, Mal lived out of town, and really, the ranger’s house? But still, it was outside _Riften_ , and even at better times Tamriel tended to be a bit of a crapsack world. I put my cheek against the wood. “Who is it?” 

“Camba sent me to pick up a baker. You them?”

Alright then. I opened the door, making a shooing motion with my free hand. “Yeah, that’s me, pardon.” Once the door was locked up, I pocketed the key and turned around. “Hi. I’m Des.”

His cheeks went pink in front of my eyes. Turned out his eyes were a warm brown, an easy thing to see as wide as they’d gone. His jaw flapped like a fish out of water just for a moment. “You’re gorgeous,” he blurted suddenly, before seemingly panicking and stepping back, hands up. “I mean, nice to see you- meet you- I-”

He was cute enough, but as far as I was concerned I was just passing through. Fixing my gaze past the car and trying to ignore the embarrassed heat in my own face I said, “That how you greet everybody?”

He grimaced, looking off to the edge of the porch as he scratched his head through his hoodie. “Sorry, no, that was- I- sorry-”

Deep breath. Hands clasped over my stomach. Just be Zen for a minute. And remember to write Dinya an apology and take her some pound cake since you hadn’t done much better. “So you are…?”

“I- it’s Etienne. I, uh-” Abruptly he turned and strode back to the car, hunched over. Forget embarrassed, that guy was mortified. Talk about red ears.

Come to think of it though, that half accent, and he did look a bit like a thief by the same name. Vaguely, hooded two-scene wonder and all. Brows rising, I nonetheless followed. He seemed to falter a minute before opening the passenger door. But when I got within five feet he scurried around to the driver’s side. We got in, buckled up, and he turned the car around to head back out to the road. Smelled like plastic and old paper.

The whole time it looked like he might be in pain. Maybe even physically. Great. Hoped it was just embarrassment and not that- really, that plastic smell landed on the weird side. I kept my eyes on the woods, glad of the overcast to the sky. At least the snow wouldn’t be trying to blind me on top of everything else.

For three minutes silence reigned. Just about three.

“What sort, uh, what sort of stuff do you bake?” Had his pitch gone a little high?

Leaning my head against the window, I sighed. Conversing suited not my mood, and with few exceptions small talk with strangers never made me happy. Especially with one that might be inclined to hit on me. But I would try to be polite. For Mal’s sake. Also it would be better not to get a member of the Guild mad at me, assuming this was that actual thief. “Whatever I feel like?”

For a moment he didn’t respond, the furrow in his brow twitching as if he were trying to work out a follow up. Then hesitant, like he wasn’t sure he’d landed the right one, he asked, “You want to listen to the radio?”

“If you want.” See, that car did not move fast enough, and I might have bet money a speed limit might have been broken. What ETA were we looking at exactly? Twenty minutes? This was going to drag on _forever._

In my peripheral vision his mouth opened as if to say something, then shut - twice over - before he sat back in his seat, lips half twisted. Brows furrowed - perplexed, slanted down and out, not angrily inward. Nonetheless a minute later he reached forward and turned it on. Some sort of alternative rock station. Didn’t recognize any of it, of course. A song passed. Sounded alright. Nothing to write home about. Except the atmosphere started to feel increasingly more _awkward._

But the discomfort started to eclipse my ability to ignore it. Resigning myself to small talk, I rubbed at my face. “Most anythin’ but muffins. Ain’t really interested.”

That seemed to embolden him. Perhaps an overly generous use of the term. But Etienne did ask another question. “What do you, you know, like to bake?”

He couldn’t help himself, could he? I glanced over, saw the Breton immediately look away from me and back at the road. Red stretched up his neck into his face like some kind of rash. Great. I really hoped his focus on the road wasn’t too rattled. Maybe I should offer to drive… “I’unno. Macarons and shortbread, most like. One’s colorful and tasty, other I could do in my sleep.”

Etienne glanced over. “So why no muffins?”

I shrugged.. “If I want bread, I’m gonna bake bread. If I want a cupcake, I’m gonna make myself a cupcake. Muffins are unnecessary.”

He gave a little chuff, smiling. “You don’t want the best of both worlds? What about the ones with chocolate chips? The tiny ones?”

Lips pursing to hide a disbelieving smirk, I crossed my arms. “Those are cupcakes.”

“Since when?” he asked with a weak laugh. Hesitant, but certainly genuine. Seemed he was easing up the more I talked to him. Hopefully he wasn’t getting any ideas.

“I dunno about you,” I said, arching a brow and still strong-arming my face into neutrality, “but the only mini muffins I ever had were teeny, cakey, and came in li’l bags perfect for school lunches. They were cupcakes without frostin’ and nobody wanted to admit it.”

“Oh yeah, I’ve had those. Three days ago, actually,” he added matter-of-factly.

I snorted. “You eat kids’ mini muffins?”

He spared a grin for me. It really lit up his face, eyes crinkling at the corners and everything. “Why not? I’ll eat anything, but those are good.”

Welp, couldn’t keep the smile down at that. I tried to hide it by turning my face to the window again. “Christ, they only good when you a kid. You got no sense of taste, man.”

“How would I know? I don’t even know what macaroons are.”

“Challenge not accepted,” I said dryly, “unless you footin’ the grocery bill.”

Etienne considered that, nose wrinkling. “Maybe?”

I rolled my eyes. “Right. Hand you a grocery list and you’ll be all ‘nope, I’m out.’”

He shrugged and pulled onto the Jorund Avenue exit. “Guess we’ll see what Camba’s got. She’s got me as her errand boy for the day.”

“You work for her?” I asked.

“For Camba?” He shook his head, suddenly nervous again. “No, no, I, uh, I do documents for the loan shop next door. I just owe her- I just owe her a couple favors so I, uh, I’m just, yeah.”

Yeah indeed. Shady. This was definitely that Etienne. But documents? Was that what Mal had meant? Forgery would fit into a criminal enterprise just fine. Though given the probable state of the Guild that made me question the quality of whatever paperwork I’d get out of this. Get nabbed before I even boarded a train. Wonderful. “The hell got you owin’ favors to a coffee shop lady?”

He winced. “I really don’t want to talk about that.”

Snorting, I asked, “What she’s like? Mal wouldn’t say nothin’.”

“Uh, well…” Etienne scratched his cheek, almost wincing as he tried to formulate an answer. “Well, she’s loyal, good enough boss according to Herluin. She lets him make potions all the time when it’s quiet.” Herluin Lothaire, the alchemy vendor? Please every fluffy Aedra up there, tell me I wasn’t about to get a who’s who of the Guild. “But she pays fair. Real serious about her coffee.”

I frowned. Sounded good, and obviously Mal liked her. “But you owe her favors for reasons you don’t wanna talk about. What’s the catch with this lady?”

Once again discomfort tinged his expression. “Look, she’s really… _You’re_ not going to have a problem with her,” he quickly insisted. “Anything you make is going to be better than the crap she already keeps in the case. She’s been dying for someone to bake for her for ages.”

“Aight, but she murders me and I’m hauntin’ your ass,” I said matter-of-factly.

“She wouldn’t.” A moment later, more quietly and without the certainty, he mumbled, “Probably.”

* * *

You could say I was regretting my decision to take Mal up on her plan by the time we hit the South Canal section of the old city. Run down buildings, uncollected trash, and boarded up shop fronts greeted us. People went about their business guarded, stances drawn in and heads down. Prostitutes staked out empty doorways away from the wind, showing their wares in tight clothes as far as they could get away with in the cold. Sure hadn’t seen that in the nicer areas the day before. Would have bet money I saw a drug deal going down one alley. I counted two loan and bail bond shops and four cheap liquor stores on one street alone. Not to be that asshole, but this wasn’t the Riften I knew about which meant this Riften was probably even more dangerous. Suddenly having a thief as my escort didn’t bother me so much.

He parked on a side street - Cherry - and we got out. “Don’t let the locals scare you,” he told me, locking up. Etienne slipped his keys into his pocket and walked straight-backed like he owned the block. “They pretty much keep to themselves.”

“Ain’t scared,” I retorted. “Just right wary.” As my uncle used to say, keep your head up, eyes forward, and some keys or pepper spray in your hands. I kept one hand on my pepper spray the entire time.

“Alright, no offense meant,” said the Breton, waving it off. “Come on.”

I took some mental notes about some of the shops I passed. Three pawns, another corner store. But what peered out at me through one iron-barred window front stopped me in my tracks like I’d been yanked back by a cartoon stage-hand’s crook. Spell books. Soul gems. Jewelry with unnatural gleams. A couple pieces of clothing, even a pair of boots. Again, some faint but strange gleams. It’s entirely plausible that I spent five minutes staring at the boots, more and more convinced there was an actual _pattern_ to said gleam. 

A hand slid into the three inches between my face and the glass. “Can you hear me?” Etienne asked as I jumped back. He couldn’t hide the amused smile, either.

Flushing, I crossed my arms. “Never seen a magic store like that, fight me.”

“Alright, but you don’t want to go in there before four. The owner’s a git,” he said with a shrug. Something caught his attention and he waved. Ah, a young woman inside at the counter. She waved back. Etienne gave my sleeve a gentle tug before he continued on. 

But I looked back at the store longingly as I fell into step behind him. The Secondhand Staff. Yeah, that place was worth checking out if I got the chance. Just to fucking say I did.

Crossed Daggers Armory and Range, charming. Palm Reading and Potions, the sign indicating a special on lingering fatigue poisons sounded shady as hell. Was that even legal? Their hours were shit, though. A locksmith, ha! The Lion's Pawn, funny- 

I stopped in my tracks, seeing a small sign on the wall next to a flight of stairs down. The Ragged Flagon. "Of course," I muttered. "That makes a lot more sense." A hulk of a man with serious sideburns, a cigar stub between his teeth, and sweater sleeves rolled up to his elbows, hauled a hardly scrawnier man up the steps behind him.

There was a brief glimpse of bloodied nose and split lip on the other man's face before the first - Dirge, maybe? - physically hurled him up the last step and onto the sidewalk right in front of me with all the enthusiasm of hauling trash. Etienne quickly doubled back and pulled me aside. The apparent bouncer pulled out the cigar stub to hock a brown wad of phlegm at the roughed-up man. "Your problem is you don't fucking listen, Molgrom. Next time I'm going to break that rat face open."

As Molgrom groaned and proceeded to pick himself up, the other man clamped the stogie between his teeth again. He spotted us, or, more likely, my staring. "The Void are you looking at?"

I shrugged. "Admirin' your work, I reckon."

“Morning Dirge,” said Etienne, gently pushing me down the sidewalk.

The bouncer snorted and turned to go back down the stairs. "Running tours now, Etienne? Bryn’s gonna love that one."

Just past Canal Bail and Loan Etienne stopped in front of the very next shop front. Unlike the other barred windows on the street, theirs were wrought iron - mismatched but full of character. Despite the light frosting of the glass I thought I could make out arm chairs on the other side. Only a plywood mug hung over the solid wood door, ‘Tava’s Cup’ burned into it. A small 'open' sign had been suctioned up in the side window. Well, already here, so I pushed open the door and walked in.

The smell of coffee and something else deeply herbal just about hit me in the face, more than the warmth. Not three paces ahead lay the counter, set against the left wall. Three coffee pot stations, a small set of flavorings, a shelf full of tea jars, and two full of mismatched mugs. A small glass case displayed some muffins and tarts. Someone had used old pallets and crates to cover the walls. Ductwork and wiring could be seen above past the shaded lights. Sealed concrete with plenty of cracks made the floor, and an impressive array of mismatched seating and tables rounded out the front. I say impressive because the coffee shop couldn't have been much larger than my first studio apartment. Towards the rear I saw a dividing wall with more assorted wrought iron traveling up. Chairs and couches ringed a low table behind it - some private portion of the shop? Closer to the front a Dunmer sat crosslegged in a chair, writing in a notebook with a coffee mug the size of his head on the table next to him.

"You want something?" asked the Breton man at the counter. High Rock, if my guess on the accent was right. His lip curled like any answer other than ‘no’ would be the turd on top of his day. Long, sallow face, fingertips discolored purple. Weird...

Etienne stepped forward, hand rising in greeting. “Hey, Herluin. This is Des, the baker.”

Aside from now creeping me out because hello, _poisoner_ , Herluin thinned his mouth in displeasure. “Great. Next Camba will hire a fuzz-chinned bard and we’ll have those idiot snappers in here with their pretty drinks and bad outfits.”

“Have you seen this neighborhood?” I said dryly. “Ain’t a poncy college brat would come down here without ten tons of backup.”

“Either way you’ll increase the foot traffic we already get,” drawled the other man. “Hurray, more idiot customers.”

"Herluin, told you to save that for the neighbors," came a deep voice. A statuesque Redguard woman came from the hall past the private area with two sacks under her arms. Her hair had been braided back, gold rings glinting from several of them. Studs ran the curves of her ears and yet more gold glinted from her wrists. How did she keep that shit on her given, well, the _neighbors?_ She walked behind the counter and emptied the sacks into large tupperware styled bins. Roasted coffee beans, then. "Don't listen to him, girl, he’s not allowed to retaliate to anything you do."

"Reckon you’re Camba, then,” I drawled.

Etienne smiled and waved hello again. “Brought the baker.”

She dropped the empty sacks atop one bean bin and reached over the counter to clasp arms with me. “Good man! So you’re Des. You bring one of those crostatas with you?”

Setting the covered plate on the counter, I then pulled off the foil. “Help yourself.”

”Ooh, don’t mind if I do!” I don’t know where that knife came from, and with how wicked it looked I didn’t really _want_ to know. Maybe ebony, definitely made to cause damage on the pull-out with that serrated edge. And yet she used it like a cake knife to cut out a slice.

Leaning into Etienne, I muttered, “Does everyone carry knives like that or is that just her?”

A grimace crossed his face. “No, that’s just her,” he answered in like fashion.

”This is good!” she exclaimed around a mouthful of pastry. Charming. Camba held it up, looking at the crust. “What’s with the marks on the bottom?”

I shrugged. “Just thought they looked neat.”

Good thing she swallowed before I said that because she laughed. “You’re a passable liar, but I’ve been around long enough to know bindrunes when I see them.” She used the knife to wave up and down at me. “Mal told me this morning you were a witch. Damn well look like it, too. As long as you’re not cursing any of my customers it doesn’t bother me a whit.”

Smile wry, I said, “Ask me about prosperity charms, it’s fun. So we got a deal then? Paperwork and a ticket for baked goods? Mal was talkin’ a week or two.”

Camba didn’t answer, busy chewing on another bite. I just waited for her to finish. “Two weeks. Is that enough time for you to get her a packet up to Winterhold?” she asked Etienne.

“Wait, what?” he asked, startled from whatever he must have been thinking about.

“I need ID and travel papers to get her to Winterhold,” she repeated. “Or do you no longer read your texts except for the first part?”

“I don’t- no, that’s, that’s fine, that’s enough time,” he stammered. “I, uh, just thought you were hiring her.”

Brow arching, Camba eyed him suspiciously for a moment longer before holding out an arm to me. We clasped again and shook this time. “We’ve got a deal, but you better believe you’re going to stuff the chest freezer before you’re gone.”

* * *

The smells of baked butter and sugar permeated everything. Smartly cut squares of shortbread lay in neat rows, going from color to color. Pale golden vanilla . Yellow lemon with little specks of poppy seed. Pink snowberry. Eponymous lavender. A brown hazelnut. The recipe sites I had visited did seem to indicate they liked their hazelnuts in Skyrim. As long as they had a hazelnut chocolate spread somewhere, I didn’t mind. Hazelnut coffee, on the other hand… A plate stacked with miniature jam tarts waited beside the cookie tray in answer to Camba’s request for fruit.

Picking up both, I carried them out into the shop to where Camba ground up a fresh batch of coffee. “Congratulations. You got non-shitty sweets.”

“Music to my ears,” she said, face lighting up as I set them down. Camba brushed off her hands and turned to survey the treats. “This all you got?”

“Nah. ‘Nother tray’s worth of cookies, about eight more tarts. Also got notes on the fridge on how long things keep how, and a cheat sheet for box mixes.”

“Thorough. Think I’m starting to like you. How are you on ingredients?” she asked, nabbing a snowberry cookie.

Shrugging, I said, “Far as basics, gonna need more powdered sugar, more flour, more butter. Anythin’ else I gotta sit down and write a list.”

Camba popped the entire cookie into her mouth and pulled a wallet from her back pocket. She hummed a bit as she chewed and fished a few bills from it. “Come back tomorrow and we’ll talk pound cake.”

It took me a second to process the banknotes she handed me. I blinked at them, reading the denominations twice over. “What.”

Her lip curled. “You want more? Come back tomorrow and you can have more,” she scoffed.

Brow creasing, I gave a minute shake of my head. “No, you gave me 40. I ain’t complainin’, but I worked like four hours and you’re doin’ me ticket and papers. I’m a mite confused, here.”

Waving her hand, she affected disinterest. “Eh, you might be worth materials and time. Consider it incentive to pack my freezer full of goods. Now go clean up-” My new boss thumped the counter twice with her fist before holding up a finger, saying, “No, wait, wait a minute.” Something about that grin and twinkle in her eyes told me she was up to no good. I watched, head tilted, as she grabbed a small paper lunch sack and nabbed a couple of each of the cookies and a tart. Folding the top over, she waved it at me. “Take it to Etienne, tell him he’s still on taxi duty. Shouldn’t have any complaints.”

Accepting the bag, I slipped it under my arm. “With that knife of yours I reckon not.”

Camba’s eyes twinkled as she leaned on the counter. “Go on, he’s two doors over,” she added, jerking her thumb. “Lion’s Pawn. Make sure to come back and do your dishes.”

A couple minutes and a jacket later, I skirted the Flagon steps in favor of the Lion’s Pawn door. I stepped inside to the muffled ringing of a bell. Like it literally sounded muffled. A rusty cowbell with no apparent dampening apparatus hung from the back of the door, the clapper still swinging slightly inside. Shaking the door produced the same sound if a bit louder. Okay, maybe like it was coming through cotton fluff or something-

“You coming in or what?” came a sharp voice, timbre akin to Camba’s.

I glanced over, saw another Redguard woman standing by an antique desk - younger, I think - with a close crop of black curls. She tapped a folder against her thigh impatiently, like she wanted an answer so she could get me out of here faster. Pointing up at the bell, I asked, “Is that muffled? With an enchantment?” However, I stepped in and closed the door - carefully. The muffling nearly silenced the bell this time.

“Yeah, I know a guy,” she answered shortly, arms crossing. “You here to buy or sell?”

Bet she never got good customer service reviews. Ha, like that was even a thing on this street. I held up the bag. “Camba said Etienne was here?”

The woman did not appear impressed but waved a hand and turned around. “Wait there. Break it, you buy it.”

Uhhh huh. Noted. I moved over to the desk, watching her head to the back of the store and through another door. She closed it behind her. An amber pyramid on a carved wooden stand caught my attention next. If not for the neighborhood this would probably be right neat store for a look-around.

A minute later it opened and Etienne came through. He looked pleased, if cautiously so. All the same he scratched his jaw, that nervousness there again. “Hey, Des, what’s going on?”

I held out the bag for him. “Good. Eat these. Camba says you’re on taxi duty, but serious, if you can’t or don’t want to, don’t worry about it-”

“No, I can do that!” he said quickly, taking the bag and opening it to peek in. “That’s not a problem. Really- oh, _awesome_ -”

“Aight, if you’re sure,” I said, turning to go back to Tava’s.

“Yeah. But you should give me your number.” As I turned, brow rising in skepticism, he threw his hands up defensively. A mite amusing given that entailed half waving the treat bag. “Or I mean I could give you mine! Just to text when you need a ride, right?”

After a moment, I pulled my phone out. “Yeah, aight…”

“You’ve got a new super?” he asked with distinct interest. “What model is that?”

“Two years old,” I muttered. “Number?”

“I was just wondering-” At my raised brow he instead rattled off his number for me. “Thought it was cool…”

Number in, I sent the text. “And _no_ questions about the number.”

“Okay- sure…” Etienne squinted at his phone. “What in Oblivion-”

I whisked a finger up. “No questions.” At his slightly wide-eyed but silent nod, I asked, “When you off? I got a bit to go with dishes anyhow, but I can keep busy real easy like.”

He shrugged, sliding his hands into his back pockets. “Whenever. If you’re baking tomorrow I’ve got a session at three.”

“How long’s that gonna be?”

“A few hours. You could probably sit in if you want.” My brow creased and he waved a hand, spluttering. “I mean, if you want, it’s just a dumb outsider thing.”

Right. Sure. “Son, I have no idea what you just said,” I told him flatly.

Etienne’s face reddened, and he rubbed his neck, looking away. “It’s, um, a pen and paper story game. You know, dice and characters and monsters and-”

All magical words that sent excited flutters through my chest. Truthfully he had me at ‘pen and paper.’ Eyes widening, I blurted, “You play Dungeons and Dragons?”

“Uh, Legends and Labyrinths-”

“And I can sit in?”

Some of his nervousness faded, shoulders loosening. He even smiled. “Of course! It’s just three of us right now. We’re trying to get Rune in on it, but I play the wizard, Vipir from the Flagon plays the warrior, and Remania from the Secondhand Staff plays the automatonist.”

The humorous surreality of thieves in a fantasy world playing D&D aside, that sounded great and, well, normal. “That’d actually be pretty awesome.”

”Yeah? Great,” he said, beaming. “Camba runs it, actually, so you should-”

“She what-” I waved a hand, turning on my heel. “Later, I gotta have words.” 

About five minutes later I had an extra 20 septim bill in my pocket and a copy of their Player Handbook. Camba looked happier than a pig in mud, reckon she thought I’d consider staying now. Not if I could help it, that was for sure. Alternate universe D&D or no.

* * *

“Look, uh,” Etienne said, hand pausing on the ignition as I buckled up. “I’m sorry if it’s weird, I really didn’t mean to make things weird-”

“Ain’t nothin’ not weird right now,” I said with a shrug. 

“Er, yeah… Look, if you want someone else to run you to and from-”

“That’s not what I meant, and I’d just as soon keep things as consistent as possible for the time bein’.” Tone softening, I added, “But I appreciate the thought.” Then I rolled my eyes. “Sides, then there’d have to be another awkward introductory car ride and who knows what kind of taste _they_ got. Bet they eat cheese from a can, the heathen.”

Etienne chuckled and started the car. “Someone’s put cheese in a can?”

Now that was a pleasant surprise. “Y’all don’t have that? Well thank god. That’s a horror this world don’t need.”

He laughed and eased out into the traffic of a main road. “Who would do such a thing?”

“Complete monster, more like than not. You mind?” I asked, pointing to the radio.

“No, not at all.”

“Cool. Not that I know what I’m listenin’ to, but sounded aight this mornin’.”

A few minutes into the ride, once a much easier quiet had settled in than the morning’s had been, Etienne said, “I’m glad you’re joining the group, even if it’s just for a little while.” When I gave him a skeptical look, he just grinned. “We really needed a healer.”

“Uh huh.”

He added, “Especially one who knows how to play.”

Shaking my head, I looked out the window at the dark highway. “Yeah, don’t get too excited. Gotta go over the PHB tonight.”

“Do you know what you’re playing?” 

“Hell yeah. Only the grumpiest lawful good orc cleric, drawin’ her power from the eminent spirits of the land. She comes from another continent as part of a good will mission, real honor minded. No kill. Violence as last resort. Bound by her oaths to heal all in need.” With a lazy smile, I added, “Baumarzgi is gonna so much fun.”

Etienne looked aghast at me. “You’re playing a _pacifist?_ You realize we have to _kill_ things and fight to protect ourselves, right?”

Grin widening, I repeated, “Heal _all_ in need.”

After a moment he laughed, though it did carry a touch of despair. “We’re so screwed.”

I snickered. “It’s gonna be _good._ ” Giving him a sideways glance, I grudgingly admitted, “And you might be aight.”

“Might be?” he asked, grinning.

“Okay, probably,” I amended with an eye roll. “Don’t get too big for your britches.”

Truly, that man had a brilliant smile.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> had to redo ch 3, chopping out most of the riften sideshit. adjusted minor shite in 1/2 while at. :\ it just didn't really add anything to the plot. maybe at some point i'll post it up in a cut scenes work or something idk. plus better fits both mal and des to just get to the point: mal took the shadow stone hold position because Reasons(TM) and as much as she thinks des is alright kid better gtfo. besides, des doesn't want to be here any longer than she's got to, no matter what neat distractions there are. (sorry, m, couldn't do it)  
> also, i want moving to be over with.  
> Next ch.'s dinner with mal and texts to fill out the next ~~two~~ three weeks.


	4. Why don't you like gifts? Do you hate Saturnalia too?

"So I heard you joined the cloudbrain society," Mal drawled as I hung up my jacket. She pushed herself up out of the armchair and walked over to the entry hall, hands on her hips and eyes twinkling. "Have fun?"

"I have no idea how they made it to level seven without a healer," I admitted, pulling off my boots. "And yeah, it was way more fun than not. Course all the other players are Guild and I'm just goin’ 'why this.'"

"The gods have a terrible sense of humor, usually," she quipped. "Stew should be about done. Clean up, put away, we'll eat."

Soon enough we sat down at the kitchen table, the scenario already familiar after just three days. I didn’t know what hurt more, that it had become so familiar, or that I found myself craving it. It must have shown on my face, or maybe I just lingered too long on the butter knife. Mal lightly tipped her bottle to me. "Come on, it might run away if you don't eat it."

"Sorry, I just…" I set down bread and knife, eyes on my bowl but not seeing it. "Is it wrong to want this when I'm tryin’ to go home?"

The ranger slowly put down her mead, a thoughtful expression on her face. She leaned her elbows on the table and clasped her hands together. "Told me you were trying to get back to normal life after taking care of your ma and pa, right? How recent was it?"

"Been about a year since Dad passed, year and a half since Mom," I said quietly. "Aggressive lung cancer, caught too late. Dad… he couldn’t handle her bein’ gone. He just gave up. I was one of their caregivers the whole way through, handled the legal shit. I couldn’t deal with the property issues for almost half a year, so I stayed with Bertie and Mags for a few months before takin’ care of it and gettin’ a place. I had a hard time keepin’ up any sort of relationship, but…”

“Mmm. Seems to me you’ve been so starved for other people you don’t care so much where it’s coming from,” Mal mused. “You know something? Everything I knew and loved went to shit about fifteen years ago. Tried to hold on but didn’t work too well. So I came out here, took a job with the hold. Even I still gotta go see old friends and drive each other up a wall here and there so I don’t go all mad. I’m not saying I'm glad you're stranded here but I'm glad you wound up here. I like the company… for a little while anyway."

"Thanks, Mal. I appreciate it."

She shrugged and dunked a chunk of bread into her bowl. "Wouldn’t say it if I didn’t mean it. You should take advantage of having the cloudbrains to hang out with while you're here, too." Mal stuffed the stew-soaked carbs into her mouth right before asking, "So you call the College yet?"

I made a face, almost as much at her garbled words as at the sudden pit in the bottom of my stomach.

"I was gonna call tomorrow. I had to figure out what I'd say in the first place. I mean, I want them to actually respond, not think that I'm crazy." I prodded a hunk of meat with my spoon, adding, "I guess I figured you weren't gonna kick me out into the snow when I told you."

Mal took another swig from her mead. Setting it down, she said, "You know what I think? I think you're making a big deal out of nothing. Tell Camba, she won't blink."

Frowning, I wagged my spoon. "Ok, I heard some things about her and I'm low key wiggin' out here. Was she Brotherhood or somethin’?"

"Freelance," Mal answered like I'd asked about the weather.

"Fuckin' hell," I exasperated, hand to my face.

She grinned and toasted me with her bottle. "You always meet the most interesting people in Riften. Speaking of, Camba likes you. Says somebody else likes you, too."

"Oh my god, no, you stop.”

* * *

Etienne  
  
**Today** 8:23 PM  
Thanks for the picture of my wizard!  
No big  
Always did art for the dnd group  
What’s dnd anyway?  
Dungeons and dragons. Basically the same thing  
We should trade campaign stories  
**Today** 8:58 PM  
yeah sure  
we could do that sometime  
:)  


* * *

Etienne Rarnis  
  
**Today** 7:52 PM  
Hey. Camba says early  
How early  
7  
You better feed me  
I can do that but you’ll have to wait a bit  
Doable  
There at 6.3  


* * *

Etienne  
  
**Today** 11:38 AM  
Hey did you see that photo I sent?  
Uh yeah about this photography thing you got  
WTF ETIENNE WHY ARE YOU IN THE GUILD  
Gdi go pro already  
Boring  
Want to see Harrald’s self pics?  
Jarlson selfies?  
Selfie is a good word for it  
It’s a terrible word and the further smartphones with cameras go the greater a blight upon the world it becomes  
Did they kill your parents or something?  
Just send me arrogant jarlson selfies  
They embarrassing?  
You said it yourself  
Harrald’s a prick  
Sweet  
Let’s caption them and leak them over rain  
Did you make an account?  
Yeah last week  
What’s your handle?  
Selfies or bust ets  


* * *

Camba  
  
**Today** 6:55 PM  
I need something fancy, cupcake.  
You may have cupcakes, but I ain’t one of them  
Ooo. Make something spicy.  
You asked for it  
I’ll bring you the receipt  


* * *

Malski Farstrider  
  
**Today** 3:12 PM  
WHAT THE FUCK IS THIS FERMENTED FISH SHIT   
Sorry kiddo couldn’t hear you over the sound of capital swearing   
I’M GONNA CUSS MORE SOME IDJIT SHIT FOR BRAINS SHOVES IT IN MY FACE AGAIN  
Halgirs food stall on s3rd?   
THAT SHOULD BE ILLEGAL   
Ha he loves doing that to visitors. Almost nobody eats that crap except at Saturnalia and Tibedetha  
Do you?   
Void no   
It’s the bloody crazy Eastmarchers and Pales. Winterholds won’t admit it  
Okay. Had me worried there  
It smells like death! Why would you think I ate it?   
I don’t know! You’re friends with a former assassin! Delvin Mallory asked after you the other day! You seem fine as frogs hair walking in South Canal! You have clearly questionable taste or at least no care for death ok?   
No I've just got a colorful history you don’t need to know about   
You don’t say!   
Get back to work. Gonna need your help with dinner tonight  
No shellfish!  
Heard you the first time kid  


* * *

Etienne  
  
**Today** 8:43 AM  
You get the piece?   
What piece?   
Ugh look in your bag   
Oh shit   
That's hilarious   
I love the tessellating ferns   
Thanks!!!   
No big. I was bored   
Horseshit ;)   
Oho think high of yourself do you?   
Don’t get too big in the britches, son   
Btw found you a lightbook. It's clean.  
Bigger than your phone. Keyboard.  
Excuse you   
What? I don’t need it   
I don’t need it either. You could sell it   
But you could use it for your spell research  
Ets   
Pay me in food and art   
>:(   
Sorry already did the paperwork  
There is no paperwork for that!!!!   
Sure is. Says I Etienne Rarnis give this lightbook to Des, no take backs  
Pick you up at five?   
:P Yeah   


* * *

Etienne  
  
**Today** 3:25 PM  
Hey. Leaving work early to swing by this art store on the Northside  
Down to one brush and pad's empty.   
You're not walking are you?  
Reckoned I'd try the bus   
No way.   
The bus here is awful and you'll get pickpocketed in 2 stops   
I'll be over at 3 and take you.   
You don’t have to do that, I’ll be ok   
Once you're off this block you don’t have Camba's rep to protect you. Just let me do this alright   
Then you're buying   
If that's what it takes   
**Today** 7:51 PM  
I said I’d get them for you   
No stop talking about it   
Why are you so mad about it   
I’m not mad   
Seem like it   
I’m not mad. Ain't too poor for a pot to piss in either   
Haven't you ever heard of a gift before   
YOU JUST GAVE ME A NOTEBOOK ETIENNE   
Yeah, it was free and I didn’t need it   
Gdi that's not the point   
See you're mad   
Why don’t you like gifts   
Do you hate Saturnalia too   
What happens on your birthday   
Yes actually because I can count family and friends on one hand and my heart is more shriveled than Ebenezer Scrooge's   
I can't tell how much of that was sarcasm   
And I don’t get the reference   
Look I'm bad with gifts ok knock it off   
Sorry I'm no good with rules   
I could hurt you   
Hmm   
Nah you're bluffing  
I’m too cute for you to hurt   
Ok I could hex you   
You know what  
You’re right  
You could  
Thank you  
I'll take my chances :)  
I’m gonna slap you stem whining  


* * *

Remania  
  
**Today** 10:27 AM  
Hey Joric's out til tomorrow. Come over. Got a translated Telvanni alteration book   
Omfg how many pages   
200ish  
Running out of space on my phone   
Don’t you have a copier?   
Loan shop does.   
And bring treats   
Sugar’s getting expensive   
Camba doesn’t care   
*I* care   
Come on we can watch Felix Vulpix reruns on the shoebox  
:)   
:) :) :)   
Ok fine drinks are on you   
Damn show can't even pass the bechdel test   
What's the bechdel test?   
Ok look   


* * *

Etienne  
  
**Today** 5:58 PM  
Omg come back  
Bring picks  
I left the key here this morning  
What  
Shut up she left after I did!  
It's cold and idk when she's back Ets plz  
Omw  
And maybe show me how to do it?  
You know  
For research purposes  


* * *

Malski Farstride  
  
**Yesterday** 6:01 PM  
Did you have plans tonight?  
**Today** 8:11 AM  
Sorry kiddo  
Unexpected sleepover at a friend’s  
Lolwut  
Mind your own business, goblin  
Ok but I shared that breakfast pie with Ets and Cam instead  
Little GOBLIN  


* * *

5 People  
  
**Today** 10:03 PM  
Camba  
Reminder to level your characters.   
Vipir  
Can mograkh get an extra level if he burns the manor to the ground?   
Camba  
No.   
Etienne  
Hey what if I wanted to develop an enchanted item that steals life experience and wisdom from others, what would I need to do?   
Camba  
Pray to your gods to answer your prayers cause I won’t.  
Remania  
Cam its my birthday next week and we did just beat the duke. How about slipping a +2 bow of ice into the vault?   
Camba  
Keep dreaming :)   
Camba  
Anymore requests from my dead men walking?   
I would want a stick of incense that never runs out but that doesn’t on its own fill any spell requirements  
Remania  
Why would you want a magic item that doesn’t do anything?   
Vipir  
Maybe big b wants to be able to set the mood on a date   
Etienne  
Is it for your cleric's ceremonies?   
Vipir  
No spell use  
Etienne  
Rituals aren’t ceremonies, idiot, play a caster for once   
Vipir  
Casters suck   
Remania  
Is it for rp?   
Camba  
Hmmmmmmm ok. But it's not great quality and it smells like cheap magic shop incense.   
Hell yeah. Best kind  
Vipir  
What are you going to do with it?   
Clever things  
Camba  
Bau's dead, roll a new character.   
Rude   
Vipir  
Busted   
Remania  
Harsh   
Etienne  
But cleverness!   
No big, only with you for one more session anyway  
Remania  
Booooo  


* * *

Remania  
  
**Today** 11:04 AM  
Happy birthday   
Come over to the shop I have tiny cakes for you   
Manny   
**Today** 1:28 PM  
THANK YOU AGAIN THEY WERE GREAT.   
Did you find the card.   
What card?   
Look in your lnl folder   
its adorable!   
And sassy   
Not everyone gets a kitty butt. Only those who truly appreciate it.   
It's going in an insert to stay safe   
Bt8 I sound like my mother   
Lol suffer   
What's your birthday wish anyway  
What?   
Don’t you lunatics have birthday wishes? Christ get back over here before I leave we gotta do a thing over   
At least tell me you have birthday candles   
Uh   
oh for fucks sake  


* * *

Malski Farstrider  
  
**Today** 4:12 PM  
Still no word from the College?  
No  
Think I’m crazy most like  
Hang in there kiddo  
I always heard winter quarter was busiest  
Take advantage of staying inside from the cold and all  
Nah knew it’d be in person or not at all  
Only way to ensure I can get an audience even if I have to break in or something  
Yeah breaking into the archmage’s office is a great plan  
Sure the archwizard would think it was a riot too  
Just make an appointment like a normal person and lie about the reason  
Use your head  
Hyperbole, Mal  
I wouldn’t break in  
Alright. We can talk about it tonight.  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> idfk >.> just idk


End file.
